


Don't Hurt Yourself

by aeoleus



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Beyonce - Freeform, Eliza isnt passive i have decided, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Fuck u alex??, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, SO, i gave her the baddest bitch anthem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7242607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeoleus/pseuds/aeoleus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliza is not a woman of words; she would rather take action, and let them speak for her. </p><p>If nothing else, the Reynolds Pamphlet is a call to action. </p><p>And Eliza has some ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Hurt Yourself

He didn't even have the basic decency to tell her before he took out an ad in the newspaper.  
She sits, swollen feet elevated in front of her, and a toddler playing next to her, and reads the text that becomes increasingly hard to decipher behind such shaky and blurry sight.

"... _real crime is an amorous connection with his wife, for a considerable time with his knowing consent..._ "

She knew her brilliant, hot-headed husband sometimes didn't think things through. But Eliza thought that perhaps Alexander would have thought of one glaring flaw in his argument: Eliza did not consent. She did not know, and how could she have consented?

Sitting at her feet, Jamie begins to cry. Eliza bends down and picks him up, rocking him till he calms down. The tears falling from her eyes mix with his.

* * *

 

She puts him down for a nap a few minutes later. As if of their own accord, her feet lead her to their bedroom. Under their bed, in a locked box, Eliza keeps every letter he has ever sent her. She keeps evidence that he loves (or loved) her. He had been ecstatic when he found that she kept all those letters, rambling on about "posterity" and "legacy". Eliza had been so happy, too, that she had made him happy.

Slowly, Eliza carefully kneels. It's hard, now, that her belly is so swollen. She removes the key from her neck, and unlocks the box.

They look so innocuous; simple pieces of paper, folded carefully and placed in dated order. But Eliza knows better. They are pieces of a promise that was built on lies; of a love, ending in a marriage predicated by a vow of fidelity and loyalty.  
They are empty words.  
They are nothing.

She gathers them up in her arms and walks to the fireplace. Philip had built a fire for her this morning before leaving for school, cheerfully telling her to stay warm. She sits in front of it, and one by one by one, drops each letter into the flames. They blacken, and they curl up, and they finally catch fire and burn to nothing but ashes. She watches as Alexander's vows float up out of the chimney with the smoke.

She will not divorce him. She will not even publicly condemn him. But years from now, when some well-meaning historian is looking for answers to those terribly ill-based accusations against the treasury secretary (did he truly cheat on his wife? Was it simply a cover for corruption?), he will find no assistance from Eliza. She will be conspicuously silent, and her silence will speak louder than her words ever could.


End file.
